The Team

Dawn at Isle de Ngor comes first with the sound of waking seagulls. They squawk and chatter to each other, zooming around in the grey predawn light searching for their morning meal. The sun slowly creeps up over the strange geometric mountain of Dakar, breaking through the haze and shining through the slatted doors of the common room onto my face.

“Hey, DW.” I open one eye and look up at Jordan through my mosquito net.

“ehaghdsa.”

“Wanna come with me to the corner store?”

“Yes.” Thickly, not quite awake yet. “Gimmie a second.” I extricate myself from the mosquito netting and my bed, throwing on a shirt. Twenty four hours ago I was wearing three layers in Istanbul, here deciding whether or not to wear a shirt is my biggest clothing decision.

The corner store turns out to be literally twenty feet from the entrance to our house, and basically consists of a mud construction shack with a gas stove and a few refrigerators used to keep the beer just above rodeo cool. With his rudimentary French, Jordan asks for a dozen eggs and some baguettes. Something I guess I knew intellectually before this trip but really only came to understand, is that eggs don’t need to be refrigerated. It still weirds me out when the clerk takes a dozen eggs from a open crate of perhaps sixty and puts them into the carton we brought with us.

 

Back at the house, Jordan cracks the eggs into the pan with some potatoes, bell peppers, onions and anything else he can find. Meals on Ngor are split between the team, one person cooks, one person cleans, then it rotates. The nearest grocery store is at least a half hour away, and its not all that better stocked than the corner store. You make a meal with whatever you have on hand or left over. Random concoctions are the norm, and it’s always interesting to see what kind of a meal someone can create.

At breakfast I’m introduced to the team.

Adam is a bigger version of Jordan. He sports a shock of white blonde hair and a grin that belies his terrifying size. An Olympic Gold Medalist for Canada in the 2008 Olympics, he met Jordan in a rowing race and was somehow suckered into joining up from the Dakar to Miami row. His most prized possession is his mandolin, which he carries nearly everywhere while we are in Senegal.

Pat is an old friend of Jordan’s from the University of Puget Sound. When the expedition need a fourth rower, Jordan called Pat, who he describes as “The one person I know who I could cold call and ask to row across the ocean who would unhesitatingly say yes.” Which pretty much sums up Pat’s personality. He’s tough, loyal and adaptable, with snarky sense of humor and a thoughtful nature. Pat works seasonally, and tells crazy stories about using dynamite to trigger avalanches while working at ski resorts.

Markus is the team’s other Canadian. I’m not sure how he heard about OAR Northwest, but according to Jordan, Markus just contacted him out of the blue and expressed interest in joining the team. This turned out to be a boon, as a few months later a spot would open up for him. He’s the person with the longest amount of time in Dakar, and the best command of French.

Markus’s brother Chris is also in Dakar. Chris is a professional filmmaker, and has been everywhere from Kabul, Afghanistan to Vancouver BC. He’s a quiet, soft-spoken professional, and I find myself taking a liking to him instantly.

Last to arrive before myself was Erinn. Erinn has been with OAR Northwest since the beginning in 2006, and is responsible for all the amazing photos that Jordan and the rest of the team put up on the site. Capable, daring, and empathetic, she’s always managed to put a human face on the team and what they’re doing.

That morning while eating breakfast, I had the immense pleasure of witnessing a group dynamic that I would soon be a small part of. 

Doug